


Under A Snowy Sky

by asexysteve



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 05:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17419871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexysteve/pseuds/asexysteve
Summary: He wants to pretend it's not a big deal. And it really isn't. It's just snow.He wants to pretend that he can't feel the paralyzing cold eating through his lungs, the lethargy that saps what little adrenaline is left over from the fall.





	Under A Snowy Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky Barnes has PTSD and experiences some flashbacks in regards to snow and wintry weather.
> 
> Unedited, please be nice to me.

He wants to pretend it's not a big deal. And it really isn't. It's just snow. 

He wants to pretend that he can't feel the paralyzing cold eating through his lungs, the lethargy that saps what little adrenaline is left over from the fall. 

He stands at the window, taking shallow breaths as he desperately tries to convince himself he's not back out there, under inches of snow incapable of bleeding to death from his ruined arm and broken ribs. He's not out there, desperately drawing gasping breaths in as he prays to any god that will listen to pass out before the pain of hypothermia attacks what's left of his nerves. 

Flakes flutter, dancing in the tunneled wind that cities inevitably create as they stretch out to the heavens. They aren't even really accumulating yet, it's the first snow of the year and it's been too warm before today for any real accumulation.

There's a fine layer of white dust over the windowsill, across the cars and all he can see is the way snow collected on his face, dusting across eyelashes that were frozen with blood and tears and sweat. Hiding him. 

He's not there. He knows he's not. Is reassured by the gust of warm air through the vents in the ceiling, reminding him that he's safely locked away in a large apartment on 91st Street, warm in a black Henley and a novelty hoodie with an empty sleeve and black sweatpants. 

But he can still feel the biting cold eating into the soft sensitive skin of his back where his jacket (that damned jacket he'd been so stupidly proud of because of the way it made Steve blush every time he looked at him. Super serum fixed a lot of stuff but it didn't fix that pale Irish skin that flushed splotchy) had ridden up when he'd rolled after he hit the ground. 

HYDRA didn't get rid of everything, after all. 

“Buck, you in here?” Steve's voice calls softly as he blunders noisily into their apartment. “T'Challa's got a jet about ten minutes out.” 

He turns, his hand cradled in the pocket of the hoodie and he knows he doesn't look right. Can tell by the way Steve's face scrunches up in concern and his arms open without words to invite Bucky into his body heat. The serum did fix that- Steve's perpetual inability to get warm. He runs hot now, hot enough that he can ground his damaged husband in the here and now with just big arms wrapped around a smaller back. 

Bucky hates himself a little bit, at how quick and easy it is to relax into Steve. To know that because this dumb punk is here, with his ridiculous arms wrapped around his useless husband because he's too weak to handle the sight of snow, Bucky can ground himself. Can breath and shake off the perpetual chill that seems to follows him when he's not in that perfect tiny cabin the Wakandan royalty had gifted him. 

“You ready? T'Challa's here,” Steve murmurs into Bucky's hair. He doesn't even know how he lost ten minutes just basking in the warmth of his husband, but he doesn't care. Because he's going back home to Wakanda, to blue skies and rolling hills and needy goats and the shadow of the Wakandan capital glimmering in the distance. 

“Why did T'Challa come himself?” Bucky asks, pointedly refusing to look toward the window and it's flitting snow as he steps away from Steve's warmth. 

“UN meeting and he wants supportive muscle,” Steve shrugs, a hint of a smile on his handsome face. 

“Well what are we waiting for? Let's go intimidate some diplomats,” Bucky laughs, forcing himself to shake off the cold, to put himself in the here and now, safe beside Steve.


End file.
